


Ascension

by 30xf



Series: 201 Days Of X Files [30]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30xf/pseuds/30xf





	Ascension

I don't dream about Scully every night. But only because I don't sleep every night. On the nights I do sleep, she is there. The dreams go back and forth between a few different scenarios. One is the classic image: Scully suspended in a beam of light, slowly being pulled up to a space ship. There is also one of her simply slipping into an infinite darkness. Or being pulled away against her will by unseen hands to nowhere in particular. Those ones are almost bearable. The worst part of them is that I always see her face. And the thing that stands out to me is her eyes. In the dreams they are the same as in the picture of her in Duane Barry's trunk--a mix of confusion and fear. Her eyes are what linger in my mind after I wake up.

Then there are the dreams where she's already gone. Already in whatever place my subconscious thinks she's in. It's always brightly lit. Always appears sterile and white. I never see her whole face in those. I only see parts of her. Her abdomen being expanded, making her into a host for whatever they put in her. Her arm, being stuck with needle after needle, whether withdrawing for testing or injecting for experimentation. Her teeth being drilled into to make room for implants. And her eyes. Still with that same look in them, and usually with a bright operating room light reflected in them. 

Once in a while my subconscious chooses to torture me in a different way. I don't recall the images that go with these more subtle dreams, but what I do remember about them is Scully's voice. Calling my name, clearly in distress and expecting me to come find her. Her hoarse yell for help, directed straight at me, over the phone when Duane Barry came for me. Screams of sheer terror. And crying. 

Almost no one seems to notice how tired I am. I go to work, I come home, I think of Scully. Repeat. Every so often I visit her mother. I tell her it's because I want to keep her updated on the (lack of) progress on Scully's case. In truth, it is comforting to be in her presence. She offers me tea and cookies. She puts her hand on my forearm when we're talking. She tells me stories of Scully's childhood. She mothers me in about a thousand different nearly unnoticeable ways. With all the traits that make her so different from Scully, she reminds me of her all the same. She doesn't believe her daughter was taken by aliens. She never has a hair out of place. She takes only milk in her tea. She tells me I need to get some sleep. 

I've tried repeatedly to give Scully's necklace back to her mother, but each time she refuses it. It feels like a burden to me some days. A reminder that someone expects me to find her even though I don't know where to begin looking. Other days it's like a life line to Scully. I can only assume that because the small, delicate gold cross spent nearly it's entire existence near Scully's heart, I swear I can feel her heart beat when I hold it in my hand. I have to close my eyes and concentrate, but it always comes to me. On my darkest days, all I can do is hold on to it, hoping that wherever she is, Scully can feel my heart beat too.


End file.
